“Broken ankle, dislocated fingers and a concussion. His ankle is held together with screws.”
Tricia nodded. “Is there anything else I should know about your brother? Perhaps why he has been sedated, since it’s not for pain?”
A sheepish grin softened the lines of tension around Ryan’s mouth. “I could never fool you, Tricia. It’s as if you have a sixth sense when it comes to Jeremy. The two of you must be bound by an invisible force that keeps you connected even though you’ve been separated for so many years.”
A shiver snaked its way up her spine. There had been a time when she and Jeremy were able to complete each other’s sentences. “You’re wrong, Ryan,” she said softly. “If that had been the case, then I would’ve known that something had happened to him. What aren’t you telling me?”
“He has episodes—flashbacks of what happened to him and the other members of his team before he was rescued.”
Her large dark eyes widened with this disclosure. It was obvious Jeremy was experiencing post-traumatic stress syndrome. “Was he tortured?”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know. He was debriefed, but as civilians we’re not privy to that information.”
“What are his meds?”
Ryan told her about the prescribed medication and dosage. “I’ll make certain to give you the hospital’s report. My brother is scheduled to see an orthopedist and a psychiatrist in a couple of days. I know this is your vacation, but I will make it up—”
“There’s nothing to make up for,” Tricia said, interrupting him. “Remember, I grew up here, and I’ve always thought of you and Jeremy as my brothers.”
Ryan smiled. He wanted to tell Tricia that he had always thought of her as a younger sister, but not Jeremy. There was something about the assistant trainer’s granddaughter that softened his brother, made him vulnerable. She would only stay a month, but perhaps it was long enough to help Jeremy adjust to coming home.
“He can’t stay on the sofa,” Tricia said. “He needs a bed and easy access to a bathroom.”
“We plan to move him into his house in a few minutes. Things will go easier for you if he’s under his own roof. A hospital bed has been set up in the family room. There’s also a wheelchair, shower equipment and a pair of crutches. Sleeping arrangements will also be set up for you at his place, so I suggest you pick up what you’ll need and then come back to Jeremy’s place.”
Tricia nodded numbly as she walked out of the main house. Sheldon had houses built for his sons less than a quarter of a mile from the main house after they’d graduated from college.
Sleeping arrangements have been set up for you at Jeremy’s place. Ryan’s words echoed over and over as she drove back to the two-bedroom bungalow where she’d grown up with her grandparents.
She’d returned to Blackstone Farms to spend a month with Gus Parker, never believing she would have to share a house with the man she’d fallen in love with and continued to love even though she’d married another.
It had taken Dwight Lansing less than a year of marriage to realize his love and passion would never be reciprocated. A week before he and Tricia would have celebrated their first wedding anniversary, their marriage was annulled. She’d given her husband her body but never her heart. That she had given to Jeremy Blackstone to hold on to for eternity.
* * *
Jeremy surfaced from a drug-induced haze for the first time in hours. Long, thick black lashes framing a pair of deep-set, dove-gray eyes fluttered as he attempted to focus on the face looming over him.
The pain in his leg was forgotten as he stared up at the girl he hadn’t seen in fourteen years. His eyes widened, moving slowly over her face and then lower. He stood corrected. Tricia Parker was not a girl, but a woman—all woman.
“Hi, Jeremy.”
Her voice was soft and husky, the way he remembered it after they’d finished making love. She had been the one to do the talking when he couldn’t, because making love had usually left him breathless and speechless.
The long, black curly hair that she’d worn in a braid was missing, in its place a short, cropped style that hugged her well-shaped head. Everything about her was ample: breasts, hips, round face, dark sparkling eyes and her mouth. Oh, how he’d loved kissing her mouth.
A white short-sleeved linen blouse and a pair of black slacks failed to camouflage or minimize her full figure. If her coloring had been a creamy magnolia instead of rich sable brown, she could have been the perfect model for baroque artist Peter Paul Rubens. Tricia was now the epitome of Rubenesque. It was as if she wore an invisible badge that silently announced: I Am Woman.
He closed his eyes, temporarily forgetting the deceitful woman hovering over him. “Where am I?”
“You’re home.”
“Home where?” He’d slurred the two words.
“In your house.”
His eyes darkened like storm clouds. He’d waited fourteen, long agonizing years to reunite with Tricia so he could confront her about her infidelity. And now that that had become a reality, he knew he couldn’t. Not when pain throbbed throughout his body.
“Get out of my house!”
Shaking her head, Tricia thrust her face close to his, feeling his moist breath sweep over her cheek. “I’m sorry, Jeremy, I can’t do that.”
Gray eyes glowing from his olive-brown face, like those of a savage predator, he bared his teeth. “I don’t want you here.”
Straightening, she rounded the bed, gently lifting his left foot to rest on two pillows. “It’s not what you want but what you need. I’m going to be around for the next month, so you’d better get used to seeing me.”
He went completely still. “A month?”
“Yes. I’m on vacation. Once it’s over, I’m going back to Baltimore.”
“I don’t know if I can tolerate seeing you for a month.”
“Stuff it, Jeremy,” she retorted. “It’s not as if I want to be bothered with you, either. But I promised your father that I’d look after you, and I’ll do that until another nurse replaces me.”
She neatly folded a lightweight blanket at the foot of the bed. What had been a family room was now a temporary bedroom. A tobacco-brown leather club chair with an ottoman was positioned several feet from the bed. The chair matched the daybed in a spacious alcove, which was now her temporary sleeping space. Sheldon had chosen the room because of an adjoining full bathroom with a freestanding shower.
Jeremy stared at Tricia. She did not look any older than when he last saw her, but she had changed, and it wasn’t just her fuller figure or shorter hair. He’d lost count of the number of hours, days, months and years she’d continued to haunt him despite her duplicity. How could she profess to love him while she’d slept with another man at the same time? Had she told Russell Smith that she’d loved him, too?
“You didn’t finish medical school.” His question was a statement.
She straightened. “No, I didn’t.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened. I decided I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “So, you became a nurse instead.”
“Yes, Jeremy.”
“Any specialty?”
She nodded, saying, “Pediatrics.”
“You became a pediatric nurse instead of a pediatrician?”
Tricia wanted to scream at him that it had been his fault that she hadn’t realized her dream to become a doctor. What neither knew when she’d left the farm to enter college was that she hadn’t left alone. She was seven weeks’ pregnant with Jeremy’s baby, despite being on the Pill.
She had dropped out of college, given birth to a little girl and then lost her three months later, after they were run down by a speeding car. Her daughter died instantly, but Tricia spent weeks in the hospital with internal injuries.
The intoxicated driver, a celebrated matrimonial attorney to the rich and famous had the clout and resources to delay the case for years. Against her attorney�
��s advice, Tricia settled out of court for less than she would’ve received if the case had gone to trial. At that time in her life she had been too depressed to relive the ordeal in a lengthy trial.
She did not blame the drunk driver for killing her baby. Tricia blamed Jeremy. And if he hadn’t deserted her she could’ve returned to the farm to live. He had deserted her and their infant daughter.
She married her attorney, but only after he insisted they sign a prenuptial agreement. Dwight Lansing claimed he wanted to marry her because he loved her and not for her money.
“And you became a DEA agent instead of coming back to run the horse farm,” she retorted sharply.
“We’re not talking about me, Tricia.”
“And I don’t intend to talk about me, Jeremy. For the next month you and I are patient and nurse and nothing else.”
Despite the pain in his head surpassing the one in his leg, he affected a snappy salute with his uninjured hand. “Yes, ma’am!”
She managed to hide a smile as she made her way to the windows and closed the vertical blinds, shutting out some of the bright sunlight pouring into the room. “Someone will deliver lunch in a few minutes. After that I’m going to help you get out of bed, even if it’s just for half an hour.”
“I’m not ready to get out of bed.”
“Your doctor wants you out of bed.”
“He’s not here, so what he says doesn’t mean spit!”
Tricia struggled to control her temper. As a pediatric nurse she had encountered children with a variety of illnesses and deformities, but invariably she was always able to coax a smile from them. Jeremy wasn’t a child, but a thirty-two-year-old man who had chosen a career that put him at risk every day of his life. He was alive, and for that he should’ve been grateful, not angry and resentful.
“You will follow my directives.” Her voice was soft yet threatening. “You need me to feed you and assist you with your personal hygiene.” She knew he wouldn’t be able to feed himself easily because he was left-handed. “Growl at me one more time and I’ll take my time helping you to the bathroom. Lying in one’s own waste is not the most pleasant experience.”
Jeremy gave Tricia a long, penetrating look. How had she known? He and the three surviving members from a DEA Black Op team of six had hidden out in a swamp in the Peruvian jungle for forty-eight hours before they were rescued. Not only had they lain in their own waste but they’d been bitten repeatedly by insects. His team leader had come down with a fever and died within an hour of being airlifted to safety.
He had no more fight left in him—at least not today. His head felt as if it was exploding. He wanted to tell Tricia that he knew how to use a pair of crutches and hobble, albeit slowly, to the bathroom, but decided not to antagonize her further.
“All right,” he said, deciding to concede. “You win, Tricia.” And she would remain the winner, but only until his pain eased. “I’ll get out of bed.” Closing his eyes, he clenched his teeth.
“Are you in pain?”
He squinted. “My head.”
“I’ll take your vitals, then I’ll give you something to take the edge off.” Ryan had left a blood pressure kit and a digital thermometer for her use.
Jeremy suffered Tricia’s gentle touch and the hauntingly familiar scent of her body as she took his temperature and blood pressure. She gave him a pill and a glass of water, watching closely as he placed it on his tongue. She recorded the readings on a pad and the time she had given him the painkiller.
“Drink all of the water.”
He complied, handing her the empty glass. Their gazes met and fused. “Thank you,” he mumbled reluctantly.
Her passive expression did not change. “You’re welcome.”
She was there, and then she was gone, taking her warmth and scent with her. And it had been her smell that, years ago, had drawn Jeremy to Tricia. She always wore perfume when the other girls on the farm smelled of hay and horses.
Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes. His father and brother complained they did not see him enough. And whenever he did return home it was never for more than a few days. There had been a time when Blackstone Farms was his whole world but after joining the DEA, the war on drugs had become his life. He always came back to reconnect with his family, but refused to stay.
He lay in the dimly lit room listening to the sound of his own heart beating. He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until he felt the soft touch on his arm and a familiar voice calling his name.
“Wake up, Jeremy. It’s time to eat.”
Seeing Tricia again, inhaling her familiar feminine scent reminded him of what he’d been denying for nearly half his life. He hadn’t returned to Blackstone Farms after graduating from college because of the memories of a young woman to whom he had pledged his future. He had loved her unconditionally while she had deceived him with another man.
Whenever he visited the farm a part of him had hoped to see Tricia, but they never connected—until now. And whenever he asked her grandparents about her, their response was always, “She’s doing just fine in the big city.”
He shifted on the bed, groaning softly as pain shot through his ankle. Compressing his lips, he managed to somehow find a more comfortable position as Tricia adjusted the bed’s tray table.
The moment she uncovered a plate he closed his eyes. “I want some real food.”
She placed a cloth napkin over his chest. “This is real food.”
He opened his eyes, his expression thunderous. “Broth, applesauce and weak-ass tea!”
She picked up a soup spoon. “You’ve been on a light diet. It’s going to take time before you’ll be able to tolerate solids.” He clamped his jaw tight once she put the spoon to his mouth. “Open!”
He shook his head, chiding himself for the action. Each time he moved, intense pain tightened like a vise on his head. “No,” he hissed between clenched teeth.
Tricia bit down on her lower lip in frustration and stared at the stubborn set of his jaw. Broken, battered and bruised he still had the power to make her heart race. “You’re going to have to eat or you’ll be too weak to get out of bed.”
He glared at her. “Get me some food, Tricia. Now!”
She glared back in what she knew would become a standoff, a battle of wills. “I’m certain I warned you about raising your voice to me. Eat the broth and applesauce and I’ll call the dining hall to have them send something else.”
“What?”
“You can have either Jell-O or soft scrambled eggs.”
“How about steak and eggs?”
“Not yet, hotshot. Once you’re up and moving around I’ll put in an order for steak and eggs. And if you actually cooperate, then you can have pancakes.” Everyone at Blackstone Farms knew how much Jeremy loved the chef’s pancakes. He opened his mouth and she fed him the soup.
“Is he giving you a hard time?” asked a familiar voice.
Tricia shifted slightly and stared over her shoulder at Ryan. He had entered the room without making a sound. “No.”
Jeremy swallowed the bland liquid. “She’s giving me a hard time. This stuff is as bad as castor oil.”
Ryan pushed aside the ottoman as he sat on the roomy leather chair. He smiled and attractive lines fanned out around his eyes. He ran his left hand over his cropped hair, and a shaft of light coming through the blinds glinted off the band on his finger. He’d married the resident schoolteacher last summer, and now he and Kelly awaited the birth of their first child together. Ryan had a five-year-old son, Sean, from a prior marriage.
“It can’t be that bad, little brother.”
Jeremy grimaced. “Worse.”
Ryan raised his eyebrows. “You better follow your nurse’s orders and get your butt out of that bed as soon as possible.”
Jeremy swallowed two more spoonfuls. “Why?”
“Kelly woke up this morning with contractions. They’re not that strong, about twenty minutes apart, but there’s a good chance she�
�ll have the baby either today or tomorrow, and I know when I bring your niece home you don’t want her to see her uncle flat on his back.”
Jeremy managed a smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “I thought Kelly wasn’t due until the end of the month.” It was now the second week in July.
“She’s farther along than was first predicted. Babies are smarter than we are. They know exactly when to make their grand entrance. Don’t you agree, Tricia?”
She nodded. The words she wanted to say were locked in her constricted throat. She wanted to tell Ryan that she had given Sheldon Blackstone his first granddaughter. A little girl she’d named Juliet to honor the memory of Jeremy’s mother Julia—a little girl who’d been undeniably a Blackstone.
Tricia wanted to run out of the room, leaving the brothers to discuss the upcoming birth of Kelly’s daughter. She drew a deep breath, forbidding herself to cry. Not in front of Jeremy.
“Ryan, could you please finish feeding your brother? I’d like to look in on my grandfather for a few minutes.” She had to escape before she broke down.
She’d left Gus earlier that morning after Sheldon had come to the bungalow asking her help in caring for Jeremy. The look on the older man’s face spoke volumes. It was fear. There was no doubt he was afraid she would become involved with Jeremy again; she wanted to reassure her grandfather that would not happen a second time.
Ryan stood up, exchanging seats with Tricia. “Take your time with Gus. If I have to leave, then I’ll call my father to come and sit.”
She took a quick glance at her patient. His chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm. He had fallen asleep. Her gaze softened as she studied his face in repose. Juliet had been a miniature, feminine version of her father.
A shudder shook her as the import of what had become a reality for three short months struck her. She and Jeremy had been parents of a little girl who had righted all of the wrongs—a baby she loved with all of her heart.
* * *
Tricia found Gus sitting on the porch, rocking in his favorite chair, eyes closed. She stood on the lower step and stared at her grandfather. Tall and slender, there wasn’t an extra ounce of flesh on his spare frame and for the first time she saw him as an old man. He had celebrated his seventy-seventh birthday that spring. She mounted the steps slowly, and he opened his eyes to stare up at her.
The Only Man Page 2